A Supernatural Psych
by Sideshow Cellophane 26
Summary: A demon has awoken in Santa Barbra, and Shawn and Gus can't do it alone! Sam and Shawn happen to know each other, and you need to read to find more out! Oh, and find the pineapple! Sorry, horrible summary. Makes more sense if you read the first chapter . . . Hiatus for now. Sorry, leave a comment of PM me if you want to help.
1. 1989

**This is something that I'm not sure I should continue. It's an idea I had about a year ago, but erased because I ran into a ditch with the whole story plot. So I'll let you decide. Should I? Shan't I? Please review!**

* * *

"But dad! How do you know?"

"Because I just arrested John Winchester today Shawn!" Henry Spencer ran his hands through what little hair he had left.

"Dad. Listen to me. Sam's a good guy, he isn't some crim-"

"You wanna know why I arrested his dad today?"

Shawn said nothing.

"He had attacked a guy in an alley. The guy was nearly beaten to death with a freakin' _pipe_. And John was rambling on about how the guy was a vampire, or something like that. If the man's like that, how do you think his children are?"

"Sam saved us from vampires!" Shawn cried. "We were in the alley, and this guy _attacked us with his fangs bared and his evil hiss not a roar dad but a hiss and the teeth were bloody dad and he wasn't human_!"

There was a long pause between the two. Henry was giving Shawn the "what the hell?" look.

_Why doesn't he believe me? Gus and I saw it with our own eyes! I'm telling dad the truth this time!_

"Alright. Alright, Shawn." He sat down at the end of the bed. "Tell me how Sam Winchester saved you and Gus from vampires on a Friday after school in broad daylight in an alley."

"You don't believe me!"

"No Shawn. No I don't. you know why? Because _vampires aren't real._"

"Yes they are."

"No they aren't."

"Yes they are."

"No they aren't."

"Yes they are."

"No they are- yes they are."

"See? _Thank_ you."

"That was reverse psychology Shawn."

"Wait . . . You ripped that off of Bugs Bunny!"

"Shawn!"

The boy winced. It wasn't rare for Henry to raise his voice. Or for them to argue about the dumbest of things. But it was rare for him to be this persistent.

Usually Shawn would've won by now.

"You aren't to see Sam Winchester again. _Ever_." without another word, he got up and left.

Shawn huffed. "Can you at least check my closet before you leave?"

* * *

_Elsewhere . . ._

"_What_ did you do?" Dean wasn't used to yelling this loud. It hurt. And he certainly wasn't used to yelling at Sammy. It made him feel bad, but still. This was in front of people. Freaking _witnesses_.

Sam quivered. "It wasn't my fault! we were just hanging out after school, and it just attacked us!"

"Details."

"These two kids, Shawn and Gus- or, it was Shawn, Gus just seemed to follow. Anyway, Shawn came up to me. I left my lunchbox outside, and he was returning it. He, uh, he caught up to me when I was taking that short cut through the alley beside Uncle Bobby's house, and a vampire was tracking one of us. It attacked all three of us, and they actually helped me kill it."

Dean shook his head. "What? How? And who were these kids? Classmates?"

"They're older kids. I don't know what grade, but older. Highschool, I dunno. Shawn grabbed two trashcan lids and . . ." He began to laugh, "Heh, he, uh-"

"He what?" Dean lightened up. This should be entertaining. Two older kids dealing with a real vampire.

"He banged the lids against the vamp's head, like in the cartoons!" He and Dean started laughing.

"How- How did you kill it?"

"Well, it was Bobby's house, so there were a bunch of spare wood parts. A bunch of stakes, and pipes. I stabbed it with a pipe. That didn't kill it, and Shawn followed my lead. _That_ killed it."

"And after the kill. What did you tell them?"

"The truth, Dean. What else could I have said? It tried to bite Gus. It bared it's fangs. What would you have said? 'Sides, they -er, Shawn- understood. I told them not to say anything. You could tell it in the eyes, Dean. You just knew that they wouldn't."

"What the _hell_ Sam?"

"They. Won't." The six-year-old crossed his arms. "Trust me, Dean." He stared Dean right in the eye, not looking away. Dean sighed and turned his head.

"Mmm. Wait- what about the other kid? Gus?"

Sam started laughing, harder. It was a couple of seconds before he spoke up. "He wet h-himself," Dean started up too, "and started crying!"

"Highscooler, huh?" Neither could stop laughing now.


	2. The Murders

**I now have inspiration again! Thanks for reviewing! And I warn you: this story is not meant for young readers. All characters are not mine. Except for Zoe, Drake, and the demon.**

"Drake! Stop it!" Zoë hissed. She slapped his hand away.

"Ah, show a little humor." He grinned. She wondered what she saw in him in the first place.

Shit. And now they were almost two miles away from any sort of civilization, trapped inside a forest. At least he brought camping supplies.

"I'll show a little humor when you stop being so damn serious." He tried again, only to get a hard slap to the hand. "Stop it, you perv!"

He laughed again, but put his hands up. She turned back to her hotdog, trying to eat around the stick. "Can't you be a gentleman and get some more firewood? The thingy's dying." She motioned to the dying fire. There were a few lit embers left, but not much more.

"What about the witch? Isn't it a blood moon tonight?"

"Oh my god. Don't mess around. And if you want to stay warm, I suggest one of us go out and get some firewood." She gave him the look.

"Alright," He got up, "whatever Zoë wants, she will get." He went into the tent, and emerged, placing something inside his pants with one hand and holding a flash light with the other.

"What's that?"

"A flashlight."

"I know that, smartass. The other thing that you put in your pants."

"Something to help me get the branches."

She said nothing else, and watched Drake disappear into the forest. When he was gone, she took his blanket. It was November, she was freezing cold, and she was camping with a sick pervy jock from school. God. Zoë took out her cell, checking the time. Quarter till' eight. It was getting dark out now; the sun was almost completely down.

After almost a half hour, she finally heard footsteps coming from behind the brush. "Drake?"

No answer.

Turning around, Zoë didn't see anything. "Huh."

More rustling, this time closer.

This time, she got up and turned around. "What the hell Drake? Do you have the fire-" She stopped ranting. This time, Drake was in sight. But he was holding a knife.

"Oh yes, Zoë. I have the wood. I have a lot of wood, honey." He took a step towards her. "A _lot_."

"Drake?" She took a step back.

_You sick perv!_

_Pick you up at seven, then we'll head our for the site. The trip'll give us plenty of time to spend some . . . quality… time together._

_Don't you _dare_ touch me there!_

_Quality time . . . _

Drake continued walking towards Zoë, snarling. She backed up, and tripped over part of the tent. She got tangled in the blankets, while Drake came up in front of her. Zoe gave up as he came right up to her, and instead watched his eyes as he lifted the knife, searching for any hints of mercy.

Wait a second. They were . . . red? Both eyes, they were red. Zoe gasped. "Drake!"

Drake dropped down to his knees, plunging the knife into her shoulder. She started to cry and scream, trying to kick the psycho off. He sat on Zoe, holding her arms down, slowly cutting off her shirt.

(**Not gonna go into that . . . Please remember that this is a Supernatural story as well. And I warned you, didn't I? Thank you.) **

Drake slowly sat up, moaning. Something had just called him. It was Her. She emerged from the brush, arms held out like a hug. She was smiling. He grinned back.

He got up, the wind blowing against his nude form. She didn't tell him to put anything on.

"Come my child. Come to me." Her voice was a soft whisper, and sounded so much younger than she looked.

Drake looked her up and down. She didn't even look like a witch, put aside the snow white hair. She just looked like an upper-class older lady, wearing what any woman would wear to a dinner party.

Drake went to her, kissing her passionately.

"Soon, you'll be with me. Forever. And ever. And ever."

"My lady?" He withdrew. "What do you-"

With a simple flick of her wrist, Drake felt something cold whip against his neck. At first, he thought she missed, since he felt nothing.

_She missed . . . She missed?_

He lifted the tip of his finger to his face . . . The slightest touch. Blood began to run down in sheets, pouring out of the finger-nail thin slice that ran from his left ear, through the neck, and up to the right ear.

_She didn't miss._

His eyes rolled back in his head as his soul slowly drained away. But not into death. As he slowly dissipated, the witch hovered at his head. Her mouth was agape, sucking something pale and . . . Almost ghost-like inside.

Drake fell under fast. The witch looked around for several moments. She had collected the girls' already. It was time to go now.


	3. The Vision

**OK, in-between the fourth and fifth season for Psych, second season for Supernatural. Shawn and Sam are only eight years apart in this, to clarify the first chapter.**

**And I can tell you: this is the darkest I'll ever go in a story.**

"I bet you ten bucks you won't make it." Shawn threw the paper basketball at Gus's head. It missed and hit the computer he was typing on.

"Shawn. I can't bet the money you stole from me."

"Fine. Then I'll give it back." Shawn checked his pockets. "Ooh," he grimaced, not finding the "stolen" money in his front pockets.

"How the hell could you have spent ten dollars without leaving the office?"

"I don't kn - oh yeah. The peanut guy came through."

"Wait, what? You said you saw Juliet. And why didn't you get me any?" Gus got up and crossed his arms.

"OK, first off: I said I saw Juliet jogging. That doesn't mean we stopped to chat. Second: I was lying. Obviously."

"So your alibi was staring at your girlfriend while she jogged down the street? Dude. Even I can come up with better."

"Oh, forget it already. I'll make it up to you later. 'Sides, our favorite detective is stomping his way up to our door." Shawn peeked out the window. Their favorite Lassey dog looked frustrated. Probably because he had to come for help.

Detective Carlton Lassiter didn't even bother knocking, since he had the unfortunate luck of having to see these twits almost everyday. Instead, he shoved the unlocked door open and stated, "We have a case for you fakers. If you want it, you're going to need to ride with me." He muttered an insult under his breath as he turned around.

"Lassey, my man! Nice entrance, never fails to keep us wanting more. And as much as we'd like to ride with you in your lovely little go-cart, the Blueberry's right there." He pointed to Gus's work car with his thumb.

"Yeah, I know." He sounded sorry, then straightened up. "But as much as I hate it, these were direct orders. Personally, I was hoping you'd decline just this one case, because the ride's about an hour, hour and a half."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop _right_ there." Gus went over to Lassiter. "Why do we even need to ride with you? Why not Juliet?"

"Gus, I told you this morning. She's at a family reunion. Hopefully her dad will show this time, now that they've gotten the chance to…to reconcile." Feeling awkward talking about this, Shawn rubbed the back of his neck. He knew Mr. O'Hara wouldn't show; he was in Antarctica smuggling polar bear parts.

"Yeah . . . Just - let's just get this over with." Lassiter sighed. He marched out the door, the two detectives following behind.

The car ride over was awkward, even for Shawn. When the car stopped, he jumped out and dropped to the ground, kissing it. Gus ran out to the side, barfing into a bush.

"My precious! Oh, my precious! Never again shall I leave you!" Shawn stopped and looked up at Detective Lassiter, "Seventeen miles over the speed limit?"

"The speed limit was too slow. And even you have to agree, the ride was getting pretty damn long."

"The speed limit was eighty! You were driving almost a hundred on that thing." Gus came back, wiping his mouth.

"Ah, be a man Guster. You won't get far in life if you don't take risks. Shawn-" he paused and sighed, "We got to you too late. Follow me, men. It's all down hill from here." He started onto a trail, heading deeper into the forest.

"Forest murder."

"Or mauled by bears."

"Let's just see the body before you declare a bear maul."

"I have always wanted to declare a case . . . Sweet father of the holy Twinkie, _look_ at this baby!"

Shawn ran over to a black Impala that, though a little dirty, was in perfect condition. He circled it, and stopped at the taillights.

"Dude. Who would draw stars on this baby? I mean, it would look good on-"

"_Get your asses in here now!_" Both men jumped, and ran onto the trail, car immediately forgotten.

After a half hour, they arrived at an abandoned campsite. Or, not so abandoned. Chief Vick, McNab, two other police officers, and a man in a black suit who was on a phone were all scattered around. A cover-up was on the ground next to the tent, with feet sticking out the end. The man on the phone was a few feet away from it.

Gus covered his mouth, gagging, while the other two went over to the cover. "Now, I don't believe in your whole psychic thing, but the chief says you need to try to pick up vibrations from the body. And to warn you: her clothes were tattered. _Beside_ the body. No peeking."

"No problem. Just give me a few feet of space. A few minutes of silence. And for god's sake, keep Gus away. He's offending her spirit."

Lassiter stepped away, going over to taunt Gus. Shawn uncovered the body as far as the shoulders, no lower. She was a brunette, in her late teens. The first thing Shawn noticed was all of the cuts on her arms.

_Clothes found tattered. Next to her body._

Without revealing anything, he lifted her arms. There were fresh slashes all over.

_Naked. _

_Please help me find my daughter! She was camping with her boyfriend, and . . ._

_Her name is Zoe. Zoe Malone. Her boyfriend, Drake Zeech, disappeared too . . ._

Shawn put his hand to his mouth. This was the first time he had encountered rape. The second thing he noticed was her pale complexion. Like the blood completely left her body. He checked beside the body. There was dried blood, but not as much as the body holds. Something had made her that pale, and it wasn't blood. Partly.

He looked around, about to call Lassey, when he saw dent markings in the grass just beside Gus. Like a body had landed there. And further more, one end of it was the color of dead leaves. But where was Drake's body then?

Shawn opened his mouth to call Lassey over, and then caught part of the phone conversation from the gut in black.

"Yeah, I'm taking care of "your baby" and no, I haven't run her into a ditch. Let's stay focused on the case, the Impala's fine! . . . Well, what else could it be? . . . Uh, no. Highly doubtful, Dean…Just - just let me take over, K? Keep researching. She . . . I've already sent pictures . . . You tell me!" Shawn frowned.

_FBI agents fighting over who did it? Keep researching? What-_

"Yeah. Just let me get back to it, alright? I'll get to you when I can." With that, he hung up. Shawn heard footsteps approaching. He stood up and faced the agent.

_Time to put on the psych._

"Hi, my name's Sam VanHorn. I'm with the FBI, and I would like to ask-"

_VanHorn? Where have I heard that?_

"Hi, yeah. Hold on a second." He faced the corpse once again, put his hand to his ear, and listened to nothing for a few seconds. "What? I-I can't hear very . . . no! Don't, NO!" He had to resist the urge to laugh as the FBI agent's eyes went from normal to saucers. Shawn dropped to his knees as everyone crowded around. And, just to show off, he started trembling.

"Holy crap, is he OK?"

"It's just a vision."

"Vision?"

"He's our psychic detective for the department." Chief Vick almost sounded proud.

"Oh. Uh . . ."

Shawn spoke with his version of a girl's voice, "Drake? Drake! Stop it! Don't you dare! _Augh_! _Stop!_"He started gasping, and looked up at everyone. "Not murder! Not murder! I am Zoe Malone and I accuse Drake Zeech of rape!" He snarled, and spoke with a lower voice, "I am Drake Zeech, and I accuse a third party of murder!" He stumbled up, crawling over to where Drake's body was. He now spoke with his regular voice. "It was here! This very spot! A double murder! Zoe was raped by her boyfriend, and Drake was murdered by another!"

No one said anything.

(**Cut to the Psych theme song, only it sounds more like the Twin Peaks version, but starts out with the beginning of Supernatural's theme. Or just imagine it as the Twin Peaks version.)**


	4. Fake!

_God, it's like he's never even heard of a psychic before._

"Listen man, I've told you all that I can." The FBI agent had turned out to be a Mr. Sam Vanhorn. He was here on the case with his partner, Dean Underdunk.

Poor guy must've been beaten up a lot as a kid. Shawn could imagine seven insults right now for Underdunk alone.

"Yeah, but in the vision. Did you see anything strange? Like-"

"Of course I saw something strange! It was a vision, and part possession."

"But in the possession. Did you see what she saw? Like, the other murderer?"

Shawn sighed. "The eyes into another dimension aren't as clear as ours. The visions can be clear, but no. I didn't see the other murderer, since Zoe didn't see him. Or her."

"What about Drake?"

"What?" _Crap._

"Well, you seemed to be possessed by Drake for a couple of seconds there."

Sam had him now. This guy was a total fraud. If he really had a vision, then Shawn would have seen the third murderer. Or, more accurately, Drake would've seen the witch. Hell, he wasn't a psychic in school, he wouldn't be now. And he didn't even remember the vampire.

Shawn paused, frowning. This guy was smart. "I was?"

_Oh yeah. _"Yeah. After you were "possessed," You went over to where Drake's body was, and said that there was another murderer."

"Oh." Shawn thought fast. "I'm sorry. But it's sort of like a dream. Sometimes I can remember, sometimes the spirits make me forget."

"Make you?"

"Yes. Sometimes, memories are so painful that the spirits refuse to share them."

Sam had to laugh at that one.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Listen. I know you're not a real psychic, K?"

"What? Oh. You're one of the nonbelievers."

"No, I believe. I believe in a lot of things, like the vampire we killed. Trust me. I'm a real psychic."

Shawn's mouth opened and closed. "Y-you! But-what the he-you. You!" He got up and began to shut the blinds, waving to Henry, standing with his arms crossed at the window. Shawn grinned, waved, and shut the blinds on him.

"I'm a psychic. I know what's real and what's not. You're not." Sam chuckled.

"Dude. How can you remember that? You were…what? Four? Five?"

"Six."

"Yeah. How can you remember that? And what're you doing back in Santa B? You know what, just explain everything while you're at it. I need info," He sat back down.

"Well, it was the first time anyone who wasn't a hunter found out about demons, so it was just memorable." He began to laugh. "You're the only one who, in my _entire life_, banged two trashcan lids against a vampire's head."

Shawn began to chuckle. "And I'm betting you haven't forgotten Gus's reaction?"

Sam grinned. "How could I? Or that nice scream he deafened me with?" He paused. "Hey. You're not psychic, are you?"

"Not really, no."

"Then why do you lead them on?"

"Ahhh . . . Long story. And I happen to know you aren't really with the FBI, are you Mr. Sideshow Mel? Or your partner, Sideshow Bob?" **

"What?" Sam checked his fake badge, then groaned.

"Simpsons. Pretty popular show, but you should know they have the weirdest names there . . ."

"Alright, we're even. So how did you convince them you're a psychic?"

"Simple. You ever watch The Mentalist?" He then went on to explain his gift, and how exactly everything worked out, from one thing to the next. Forty minutes later, Sam had his head in his hands, resting against his knee.

Shawn was still going on, "And I _will_ warn you right now, pineapples do NOT taste good with popcorn. They're like smoking, you hate the taste but you _just can't stop-"_

"Mr. Vanhorn? Shawn?" McNab stepped in. "Sorry if it's a bad time, but we kinda have a problem down at the pier."

"Yes!" Sam jumped up and ran out of the room, pushing past McNab.

Shawn stopped talking abruptly. "Huh. Guess it was something I said."

Gus met Shawn just outside the room. "What where you two doing? It's been nearly an hour!"

"I'll tell you in the car. But lemme tell ya: you're in for a surprise."

"What?" Gus leaned in and whispered, "I knew it! The doctors at the hospital finally found out who you really are!"

"What? No they didn't! I mean," Shawn looked both ways, "no- no one would've found out that quick, right? I think I had my face pretty well covered, right?"

"They could still see your eyes."

"What, do they really keep security cameras in operating rooms? Because it wasn't my fault the real doctor was late- wait, no! It's not that! You remember junior high?"

"What about it?" Gus shrugged.

"Whoa. You seriously can't remember?"

"All I remember is Skid Morgan, that bully who got electrocuted in the basement. And your dad really closing in on your future in police work. And Sam Winchester . . . Oh."

"Yeah. VanHorn? Simpsons."

"Wait- why's he here? I erased that memory long ago, Shawn. I'm not getting dragged back into your messes with any ghosts."

"Technically a vampire."

"Whatever. I refuse to get into it again." He started for the car, leaving the station. Shawn pushed open the doors, following.

"Oh, c'mon, Count Chocula. It's our chance to be _demon hunters_. Save a few lives, pick up _Miss_ Chocula . . ."

Gus pursed his lips at that. "Alright. But don't call me Count Chocula in front of Sam. And didn't he have-"

"Count Chocula?"

"Whoa!" Both men turned around. Sam was standing to their right, next to the Impala they hadn't noticed. He was holding the driver's door open, like he was about to get in.

"Dude. Say hello first." Gus glared at Shawn. "And I don't believe we've seen each other since you were a kid."

"We, technically. And w didn't even know your names."

"Than allow me to introduce us. We know that you are Sam Vanhorn. I am Shawn Spencer, psychic detective for the SBPD. And this is Homer G. Flanders. Aka Magic Head. Aka Count Chocula. Aka Guster. Aka-"

"Shawn," Gus warned. Sam laughed.

"Nice to meet you two after so many years. But uh, I think we should get to the pier, if you want to solve this case . . ."

"Ooh! Almost forgot. Meet you there."

* * *

**You'll see Dean in the next chapter, I promise. And we start to have a little fun in the next chapter . . . *evil laughter***

***- Couldn't resist. All rights go to Matt Groening, I own none of the Simpsons characters. **


	5. What is It?

**I didn't expect so many people to like this story (I had no hope in this-even just seven people is a lot for it)! So, thanks for reviewing, and here's another chapter. **

Shawn and Gus arrived before Sam did. But there was another "agent" asking several cops questions, just beneath the pier.

Shawn nudged Gus. "There's Sideshow Bob."

"Sideshow Bob?"

Shawn looked at him, and realized he hadn't told Gus about the names. "Oh yeah. His last name is supposedly Underdunk."

"His last name's Terwilliger."

"No, he told me Underdunk."

"Who?"

"Sam."

"No, his last name is Terwilliger."

"I'm talking about Dean."

"Is Dean's last name is Underdunk or Terwilliger?"

"Yes. Wait. No. It's really Winchester, but he's using Underdunk. Sideshow Bob's last name is Terwilliger. Bob's _middle_ name is Underdunk."

"So his fake name is Dean Underdunk? And Sideshow Bob is Robert Underdunk Terwilliger?"

"Yes.

"How do you know that? I never see you watching the Simpsons."

"I caught Funeral For a Fiend the other day."

"Ah."

They walked over to Lassiter. "Llllllllllassey!" Shawn used the detective's shoulders to hop up. Lassiter yelled.

"What the hell Spencer?"

"That's for the car ride."

He gave him the "what the hell?" look while the two went over to Dean. "You must be Mr. Underdunk. I am Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner, Jack Skellington," Gus glared at Shawn, Dean raised an eyebrow. "I am the head psychic detective for the SBPD, and I am here to help. Now, if anybody can tell me where the body is?"

Dean looked down, obviously hiding something. When Shawn looked everybody in the eye, they all looked down. Even Lassiter.

"What? Where's the body?"

They all looked up, at the top of the pier. Shawn gasped, Gus made a gagging sound and looked down, walking away. More like running. For once in his life, Shawn was speechless.

Right above him was a Pentagon, a star inside a circle. It was huge, at least ten, fifteen feet wide. But inside . . . Inside the circle was a body. At least that's what Shawn thought it was. The blood splattered across the pier like a fly on a windshield, bits of bone jutting out here and there. As he gazed up at it, something came spindling down, landing on his forehead.

In a daze, he took it in his fingers, and turned it over. It was a bone, curved, like part of a skull. The world came back to Shawn, and he cried out and threw it into the air. The skull piece came back down, landing on Detective Carlton Lassiter's head. He jumped and swiped it off, where it landed on the ground.

"Jesus, you're gonna need a shovel." Silence didn't last long for Shawn.

"We think it's a male, there are traces of short hair in there."

Shawn turned towards Lassey. "You're basing the sex off of his hair?"

"Yes. What else could there be, look at it!"

"It? It's a he, Lassey. I doubt I can get much from the body, but I need to try . . . Something," He ushered them away, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye as he went along with the rest. Several others got into a car, their work done.

_That leaves Gus, Lassiter, and Dean. Where's Sam?_

Shawn looked back up. The body was . . . It had a supernatural tint to it. Well, it had to be. No human could do that to another person. But vampires can't do that, can they?

"Dean Underdunk!" He called out.

Dean looked up in shock. He went over, eyeing Shawn like a bug that needed to be squished. "How do you know my name?"

"Met your brother." He checked to make sure nobody was close enough to hear. Lassiter was filling out papers, Gus was in the car holding a bag to his face. "When he was six."

Dean showed no emotion. "So? And how would you remember that?"

"Well, it was my first interaction with the supernatural. You know, that name sounds like a TV show I've heard somewhere . . . Supernatural. Oh, sorry. And he remembered me by the genius way I banged two trashcan lids against the vampire's head."

Dean's eyebrows raised. "There are no such things as vampires, psychic boy."

"Alright, denying it. I've worked with denying before, Sideshow Bob. Or should we say: Dean Winchester." He put his fingers to his head on Winchester.

_Now _Shawn had him. Dean opened and closed his mouth. "How . . ." Then he realized, drawing his head back, "You're the real deal, aren't you?"

"Sort of. I'm the one who banged the trashcan lids together on the vampire's head. Gus was the one who screamed like a little girl and ran away."

Finally, Sam pulled up in the Impala. Dean didn't bother to answer Shawn, and instead dragged him by the arm to the car. "_You told him?" _Dean yell-whispered like a scolding mother.

"Technically, I remembered it," Shawn whispered, "and I'm a psychic."

"No you're not." Sam frowned.

"Then how did he know my name?"

"Well, I told him that, yes, but-"

"So you told him demons exist? Oh, sorry. You already did twenty four years ago."

"Why are we whispering here?" Shawn realized how much both brothers had in common with he and Gus.

Both men grumbled. Dean now spoke in a normal voice, "So you're a fake psychic detective?"

"Well don't say it out loud!" Shawn looked around. Everyone else was busy, thank god.

"Why a psychic?"

"Yeah, don't ask him to go into that." Sam rubbed his neck.

"Why? You hunt demons but can't stand the sound of my voice?"

"I know I can't." Dean raised his hands and made a start for Lassiter. Sam followed, mumbling a quick catch you later.

Shawn went back under the pier. The body was fascinating. All of that blood and bone, all mashed up inside the-

Wait.

The splatter looked like it had been stopped inside the circle, limited to its boundaries. It would have . . . spilled out more, if the circle hadn't stopped it.

Another thing. There were no clothes. No strands of cloth, only hair and inner/outer body parts.

"Uh. Sam? Dean? Gus?"

Gus glared at Shawn from inside the car, then turned his head stubbornly away. Lassiter, Sam and Dean came over.

"Yes Spencer, we know it's inside a star."

"Oh, sorry then. You can go back to your little hut and continue growing those nine inch nails you've always been talking about."

"You're just jealous I actually provide for my girlfriend. And it's a band, not actual nails. And it's her who likes them."

"Oh, yeah. Her. What about those "ghosts" Gus and I rid you of?"

"It was an insane woman with relationship problems who was drugging me."

"A _divorced_ woman with relationship problems who was-"

"You called us here for a reason?" Sam was getting tired of this now.

"Yes. Do you see how the blood doesn't leave the pentagon? How it looks like it can splatter a few more miles-"

"Feet."

"Sarcasm, something foreign to you, I know. I'll have Gus teach it to you sometime. And notice how there's no clothing inside?"

"Wait. It's a male. No clothing. Drake raped her . . . Are you suggesting this is Drake?" Despite how annoying he could be, Sam had to admit he was smart.

"Yes. Now, the million dollar question is this: how did someone- or some_thing_- get him up there?"


	6. Look at the Evidence People!

**Sorry, it took me a while to find the proper inspiration for this chapter to lead up to the next part. But woo-hoo! Thank you all so much for your support!**

**But also: I'd really like for people to review, instead of just add this to favorites or alerts. It means a lot that people care, but then it's kind of ruined when they don't leave anything to show. If you like it, please tell me. If not, tell me why.**

* * *

Gus and Sam were at the office now, getting out of the car. After Shawn had declared it to be something supernatural, the groups had split. Shawn and Dean were to look into the bodies and try to find clues while Sam and Gus were to actually research.

"You've named your fake detective agency 'Psych?' I'm sorry, but isn't that a little obvious?"

"That's what I told Shawn," Gus sighed, unlocking the door.

He led Sam to the desk, clearing away several wrappers and an empty chip bag. He picked it up. "What? I just bought this yesterday. Shawn owes me four ninety-five."

"You actually payed that much for chips?"

"These are a good quality. They import from Canada. Orphans there hand-make their chips, and sell them to support their orphanage."

"Yeah . . . Let's just research." He pulled out the laptop.

Gus sat down at his computer desk. "What exactly are we searching for here?"

"We're supposed to look for demons who would do that to a human being," He pointed to the picture of the body under the dock.

"Mmmm," It wasn't so bad as a picture, the camera didn't really catch it too well. Gus could look at it and only _feel_ sick.

They began the research.

* * *

"Woody, my man!"

"Shawn. Pleasant surprise. Who's this?"

"Woody, this is FBI agent Dean Underdunk. Dean, this is our coroner for the SBPD, Woody."

Woody grimaced, shaking Dean's hand. "Underdunk, huh? I'm so sorry."

Dean looked down, trying not to smile. "Yeah, the kids at school weren't."

"Ooh," He turned back to Shawn. "What'll it be?"

"The rape and soup-dude."

"Alrighty." Woody pulled out a jar of red, white and pink goop from a drawer. "This is the soup-man. I agree with you, he was especially hard to get down. I don't think we got all of him, but there are parts of bone, and pieces of bowls. But we seem to be missing his spinal cord and part of the head. Enjoy," He handed Shawn the bowl, "and you're rape will be up next."

"Does anybody else besides me think you two are nuts?" Dean couldn't wait to solve this case, kill the demon, and get the hell out of Santa Barbara. The people here were too weird for his taste.

"Yes, Drake's innards probably do. Now here," Woody led them to Zoey's body, "is Zoey, poor girl."

He pulled open a slice in the sheet, revealing her stomach.

Shawn squinted, "Oh my god. Is that a-"

"Yep."

"And he did it right on her-"

"Uh-huh."

Dean showed no real emotion. This was normal work. Sort of.

"Dude. That isn't normal."

"You think that's weird? Her navel's right in the center of it. I got kind of bored last night, and decided to measure."

Dean looked at Woody with his eyebrow raised, officially freaked out.

"I get night shifts," He shrugged.

"Can't you just read a book, or play on the computer, or something normal like that?"

"Says the man with the last name Underdunk."

"Hey, whoa dudes. Let's not bicker over who killed who."

"But we have to. Or, you do, since you're a psychic. Would you like for me to sing _Brave Sir Robin*_ for you?"

Dean crossed his arms, smiling. "Yeah, Mr. psychic boy. What readings can you pick up from this?" He motioned to the girl's belly.

Shawn put his hand up to his temple immediately. "Give me silence and a cinnamon sugar donut."

Woody leaned back against the wall, Dean rolled his eyes and did the same. On the opposite wall.

Shawn turned back to the girl, studying her intensely.

_Head, there's only one mark on there._

A long gnash from the neck, up, below her nose, back down the other side. Other than that, no scars marked her face. Not even any bruises.

_Scars all the same length._

The scars Drake had engraved into her skin were all four inches in length exactly.

_And, once again, the star on her belly._

There was just a plain star, her navel in the center.

_The star isn't a scar like the rest._

It wasn't red, it was black. Like somebody drew it with a pen.

_Or . . ._

"Oh! Psychic vibrations from beyond the wild blue yonder!" He grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and inspected it intensely, like it was a clue. Then, Shawn pushed it onto the star, rubbing it a little.

"Hey, we haven't taken pictures of that yet!" Woody exclaimed.

"This star - it's different than the other scars. As a matter of fact," he lifted the napkin, showing it to the other two, "this isn't even a flesh wound."

The napkin was black from the star; Dean took it to examine. "What is this?"

Woody took it, "You'll find out tomorrow."

* * *

"Hey, I think I found something that may match." Gus frowned. "But it may not be exactly what we're looking at here."

"Anything's better than what I've got."

Sam got up, looking over Gus's shoulder. He had a puzzled face after seeing the screen, "The Blair Witch?"

"Well. All Google has to offer are a bunch of TV shows when I look into it, and when I mention 'bodies inside pentagon,' 911 comes up."

"No, no this - this is good," he went back to his laptop, "it has to be a witch. No other demon can use a Pentagon, it'll get trapped. This gives us a lead, then!"

"So I was actually right?"

"Yeah."

"And this demon thing is a witch?"

"Yeah."

"Then shouldn't we tell Shawn and Dean?"

"Yeah . . ." Sam grimaced.

"Forty minutes of nothing but pineapples?"

"Yeah."

Gus nodded. They could wait. "Well, no offense, but I don't look to forward to seeing Dean either."

"None taken. Try living with him."

"Try hanging with a fake psychic."

Sam looked up. "Speak of the witches, here they are now."

Gus looked out the window. Dean was marching ahead of Shawn. Shawn was saying something.

A + B = ba-boom.

The door opened. "-n't think that your detective's onto me yet."

"I warn you, the only reason why nobody is onto you is because they don't watch _The Simpsons_. If you keep using that badge, then somebody will."

"I'll ditch it later. Sammy, Jack, find anything? Say yes." Both glared at him.

"Don't call me Sammy."

"Don't call me Jack."

"It wasn't a question."

Sam sighed. "We found out it was a witch."

"And that it's apparently pretty powerful. Like, the original power that started the Witch Trials. Shawn, this thing may be a little out of our league here. You're a fake psychic getting yourself involved with real demon hunters here. Besides, have you seen what the witches used to do to people? They possessed little girls, Shawn. _Little girls_."

All heads turned to give Gus a look.

Shawn then turned to Sam. "We're supposed to get the results tomorrow, but we think we have a lead."

"Our little witch left a trademark on Zoey. It's drawn out in something black, the lab results will come in tomorrow. Meet you two when it comes in."

Sam and Dean left, leaving Shawn and Gus alone with the picture of Drake.

Shawn turned, "Red Robin smoothies?"

"You know it."

* * *

**Also, scratch that. For Psych it's around season six, sometime before the finale (won't give anything away on the subject of that), but Henry's still with us.**

*** - Spamalot. Hilarious song, very wrong, but hilarious.  
**


	7. Into the Woods

**A special thanks to Dragon Paranormal for finding the pineapples! Whoever finds any pineapples sooner on gets a mention in the Psychout!**

**Also, my apologies. This was supposed to be done by Halloween, and we haven't even gotten to the middle of this story. So here's a start!**

* * *

"So what do you think about them?" Dean paced up and down the small space between the wall and his bedside lamp.

Sam continued typing for a second, then looked up. "Hm?"

"The fake psychics. You think they're involved with this?"

He scoffed. "Those two? Highly doubtful. You were the one with Shawn, why would you ask that?"

"It's like they're purposely acting that way. Like Gus."

"What way? Dude, they're just a little dim. Gus is the smart one in all of this, they shouldn't be in our situation."

"Yeah, but don't you think they're acting like they _want_ to be?" Dean crossed his arms. "It's like maybe they're involved a little higher than their heads."

Sam closed the laptop. "I don't know about Shawn, but I know Gus isn't planning anything."

"Well yeah, you're right about Gus. But he's with the psychic, so we don't really know."

"No, I'm pretty certain Gus doesn't have anything up his sleeve. But you may be onto something with Shawn . . ."

"We need to keep an eye on them," Dean jumped onto his hotel bed, "who knows what they may have gotten themselves into with the witchcraft."

* * *

Shawn took a long sip from his smoothie, and shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. "Tho whaddya hink bout' ham an' deh?"

"What? Chew and swallow before speaking." Gus took a bite of his cheeseburger.

Shawn swallowed and held back a belch. "So what do you think about Sam and Dean? You know, Good Cop-Scarecrow Guy."

"I think that Dean's playing the part of bad cop a little too well. He's pretty hateful. And then Sam's just weird."

"Agreed," they continued eating. He picked off a pineapple piece from his smoothie, holding it up to examine. "You think they're trustworthy?"

"What? They have to be, they're trying to . . ."

"Trying to hunt down a _witch_. Didn't you say witches could possess people, or get them to do their every whim?"

"Yeah? So?"

"So . . ." His hands moved in a circle.

Gus still had a blank face.

"Maybe the witch did something to them? Like, dude. We haven't seen each other in decades. A lot changes in two decades. They probably turned to evil, I finally realized I wouldn't go bald at twenty, and you stopped wetting the bed."

"I stopped wetting the bed when all the kids stop!"

"Yeah, you stopped until Sam and I killed the vampire."

"_All_ of us killed it."

"Really? I don't exactly know if crying and running away counts as killing a vampire."

"Shawn."

"Whatever. Anyway, we were talking about the demon hunters."

"Yeah. Right. I think you may be right in all of this. They have trust issues, even more than Lassie."

"I know, right? When Dean and I were riding back to the office, I asked him if he liked strawberry smoothies, and he just glared at me."

"You just asked him out of the blue?"

"Yeah, but riding with him is like riding with Jules and Lassie in the same car. You can feel the awkward." For an effect, he waved his hands through the air.

"Yeah. You know, instead of complain about them, we should just keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior."

"Suspicious behavior? Dude, this isn't a mystery on TV for families to watch and read about."

"Shawn . . . it's just this feeling that I have. It's like they're hiding things. A lot of things." They continued eating. "Mm! When's Juliet supposed to get back?"

"I think she's supposed to be back later on tomorrow, day after. I hope we'd have finished the case by then."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think we're going to finish this without seeing the witch."

* * *

"It's coal."

"What?" Shawn cocked his head, taken off guard.

"Spencer, what the hell have you dragged me into this time? I have important work to do, you can't have me over for mud pies today." Lassiter uncrossed his arms and walked out the door. The only reason why he had come was because he still considered this his case too.

Henry stayed. "What does this have anything to do with your case? It's coal, they were camping out in the woods, there was a campfire. She probably fell-"

"But the coal was a marker for a star on her belly," Shawn took the results, studying them, "and that means that whatever did this to her had access to coal." He stood next to Henry, showing him the pictures of Zoey, "Their fire was made out of _wood_, not _coal_. Her murderer drew a star out of coal, and then put Drake Smoothie inside one under the pier. Where does coal come from?"

Woody came over too. The three were alone; the 'FBI detectives' hadn't shown yet. "This is exciting . . . ! We need to do this more often!" He grinned.

Shawn and Henry both looked up at him, then Shawn shook his head.

Henry took the papers. "How the hell did I miss that?"

"Your old-manism made you."

"Shawn!"

"Why is that all that I hear from everybody? It's like a trigger for you people when I come into the room. At least Jules doesn't do it."

"Mm. This is a good lead here, we—we need to follow up on this!"

"Yeah but seriously. Where does coal come from in the SB forests?"

"Pretty damn deep," Woody said, "from what I can remember. It'll take at least a day to get there, you'll need to campout one or two nights."

_Oh god. Blair Witch Project, we're all gonna kill each other. _"Isn't there a shorter way to get there?"

"Uh . . . you can take a plane over the site and have it drop you off from there?"

"That's perfect!"

"Shawn, you are not going to parachute into the woods!" Henry exclaimed.

"Who said anything about parachuting? When I get close to the ground, I'll use whipped cream cans to slow me down."

"That's not gonna happen!"

"It did in Spongebob."

"If you need to go into the woods, I can lead you. _Or_ you can-"

"Go around town asking, 'hey, did you happen to kill a man and his girlfriend, and draw a star out of coal on her belly?"

"Fine. Go into the woods." Henry went to the door. "But I'm coming with you." He left.

* * *

"So you figure we should just march into the woods and find a coalmine?"

"Pfht. No! We need to go into the woods, find the coalmine—or wherever it came from—and find the witch."

Dean looked at Shawn with profound confusion. "I-it doesn't exactly _work_ that way, you know!"

"Why not? You said that you were hunters, you must've found and killed witches in your lifetime, right?"

"Several. But-"

"Then we find coal, we find the witch. You kill her, the town's happy. You especially, you guys can leave and we never have to see each other again."

Dean opened and closed his mouth. Sam leaned over and said, "Dude. We pack tonight, we leave in the morning. In four days, we never see each other again. We go tomorrow." He patted his shoulder and leaned back.

Dean was defeated.

* * *

"That was a close one."

"Yeah, you seriously _had_ to leave the tents upstairs. He was almost done when you came back down."

"Well, it doesn't matter now. We escaped your dad when he was in the bathroom, got through traffic, and have plenty of emergency camp stuff packed." They pulled the car up to the trail, talking as they got out.

Sam and Dean were getting out their stuff, arguing as well.

"Dude. I still have to say that you don't need a baseball bat when you're in the woods."

"Why not? What if a bear attacks?"

"You grab a tree branch, Gus." Shawn popped the trunk and screamed.

Henry sat up with his arms crossed.

Sam and Dean stopped arguing and went over.

"Who the hell is he?"

Shawn ignored him, "You rode here in my _trunk_?"

"Well Shawn, you should probably _not_ explain your plan to leave me at a gas station when I'm in the other room."

"But you were in the bathroom!" Gus exclaimed.

"And out a one story window." He climbed out and shook the bewildered brothers' hands, "Henry Spencer, Shawn's father."

"Oohhhh." Both said.

"Yeah, explains a lot, doesn't it? One time he locked me in the trunk of the car and explained what to do when I was kidnapped. And he made me permanently afraid of the ocean when he said to a nine-year-old me that sharks never sleep. And they're everywhere."

"Yeah, and you used that training when you _were_ stuck in a trunk. And you still love the ocean; don't bitch to me about your many childhood issues."

No one said anything after that. They all got out their things, assigned carriers, and started off.

* * *

_**Reviews are highly recommended **_**and returned (If not, let me know). Also, we **_**finally**_** get to the good point here! This should start to pick up, I just haven't had too much inspiration for the beginning. But the next chapter was my inspiration for the story, so now I'm excited . . . .**


	8. Henry's In Too

**I tried to do this right, but four men in a forest is harder to write out than you think. And I'm sorry this is so short, not the scene I was planning on writing out. Should be next chapter, but please bear with me for now.**

* * *

They had trudged through the forest for a half-hour before coming upon the scene of the crime. They dropped their things, watching Henry with a profound interest as he walked backwards with his arms held out. "Well? I see our first lead. Anybody else?"

They all looked at one another, and looked around. Dean shrugged and said, "What?"

Henry grinned smugly. "_Look_. Don't just see, look."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Shawn had already begun his search. "It means that the important things are hidden in plain sight."

_Blood where Drake landed._

He once again squatted down, inspecting Drake's landing area. By now, nature had erased the flattened grass. But the blood was still there, along with . . .

"Found it!" He got up and pointed.

There were broken branches heading deeper into the forest, like after the murderer killed Drake, it turned around and left.

"Wha—oh," Dean said, "Alright, I give you credit for that. How did _he_ know?"

Henry picked up his stuff, already heading onto the trail, "I used to be a detective for the SBPD. Started working there again bout' a year ago, six months."

Shawn muttered under his breath, "Feels a lot longer than six months."

They started along the new trail. Henry led, with Shawn and Gus behind him, Sam and Dean in the far back. Shawn and Gus kept looking behind them, and grinned when they were caught. Sam and Dean grinned back, but kept in mind they had been watching too.

"Dean. They're watching us." He spoke softly enough that only Dean could hear.

"I know. Like hawks."

"So you were right."

"I know."

Shawn and Gus turned around again. All four grinned at each other; they turned back front again.

"Gus, you were right. They're watching us!"

"I know! That's because _we're_ the ones turning around, they're catching on!"

"Then stop turning around!"

"I'm not the one turning around! You're the one turning around!"

The rest of the fight wasn't audible to anyone, though Henry turned around and they all stopped arguing. "Well."

"Dad. Stop saying that and finish your sentences. No one can read your mind."

He grunted. "Fine. You don't wanna finish the case, I'll hand it over to the FBI agents."

"What?" Dean asked, looking up.

"It's Dean, right? And Sam? How exactly did Shawn talk you into coming?"

"Yes sir," Sam said, coming forward, "We're on this case too. It didn't take much."

"Really? You're _both_ gonna camp out just for the sake of a case?"

Sam knew he was onto them. _Have to cover up _"Sir, we take our jobs very seriously."

"Oh, I bet you do. May I see your badge again?"

"Why?"

"I want to." He held out his hand expectantly.

Sam took it out. Everybody watched in grim silence.

Henry took it, examining the piece of plastic. He looked up, smirking. "I knew it."

"Knew what?"

He threw the badge in the air behind him. "You aren't real detectives are you . . . Sideshows Mel and Bob?" He crossed his arms. "Shawn, you knew this. I told you not to get involved with the Winchesters."

"Dad—"

"Wait, what? That was over twenty years ago!"

"Yeah, he has this weird memory thing, it's like me—"

"I have Eidetic memory, along with my son."

"People, people," Gus exclaimed, "stop fighting! No, the Winchesters aren't real FBI agents. We're all on this case though, and it's already six o'clock."

"We need to get to a clearing," Dean said, "Else we'll be stuck traveling through the woods unprotected."

"From demons?" Henry mocked.

"From whatever's in this forest, along with the murderer. If she's still here."

No one said anything after. They started along the trail again, eventually tripping into another clearing. They finally started talking to each other again while setting up tents. Shawn and Gus distracted Henry while Sam and Dean made a protective circle out of salt around camp.


	9. The Mines

**Bleg. Halloween's almost here. It's getting harder to find inspiration for this, though I have the ending perfectly planned out. It may not be finished by Halloween, I really hope it will be.**

* * *

Dean and Henry were the only ones awake now. They couldn't fall asleep, for similar but very different reasons.

Though Dean didn't want to leave his post, Henry has been staring at him for (he checked his phone clock) seven minutes now. Without blinking.

"So . . ."

"Yes." He still had his arms crossed.

Dean groaned. "Will you stop staring at me?!"

"Why are you really here?" He still hadn't blinked.

It bothered Dean deeply. "Why aren't you blinking?"

"Touché." He blinked once. "Why are you really here?"

"I'm looking for the tooth fairy."

"Why are you really here?"

"I'm on this case too."

"Why are you really here?"

"I dunno. Maybe I wanted to have fun with guys instead of *Fantine's ghost." **(*-Les Miserables)**

"Why are you really here?"

"I'm hunting a witch."

"Why are you really here?"

"Why are _you_ really here?"

Henry uncrossed his arms. "I'm here because of my son. Why are you here?"

"I'm here because of my brother and your son. They're on this case together, apparently. La-la-la, happy unicorns and rainbows. I'm in it too. So are you, and for the same reason. We're both protecting our sloppy idiots."

He finally smiled. "True. Very true. Except I have two idiots."

"True. And mine's not that sloppy, except when it comes to my car."

"Shawn won't even _drive_ a car. He drives a stupid motorcycle. Almost broke his neck numerous times on cases, _and_-"

A twig snapped just outside of camp. They both stood up, holding their guns. Henry put his finger over his mouth, and pointed to Dean, then past him, and to himself, and behind him.

Dean had no idea what that meant, but turned around. Another snap. From the opposite direction. They went back-to-back, watching from both sides as something started snapping all around them.

Dean knew what was happening, he was sort of calm. Henry simply thought this was a stake-out, that there was more than one murderer. Both men unintentionally looked down at their unannounced loved ones; the sudden urge to protect overwhelmed both brother and father. Brother especially, knowing the truth.

However, Dean knew the circle should protect them.

_Shouldn't it? _

* * *

Shawn awoke with a yawn. He looked up at the grey sky, blinking and trying to remember if he was kidnapped, on a case, or had a few too many drinks last night. He saw Sam, still asleep, and remembered everything. "Aw, _crap_!"

"Bout' time," Henry was at the fire pit, poking the members with a stick.

"Uh, dad . . . what's with the guns?" He slowly got up. Gus and Sam were asleep, and Dean was nowhere to be seen. Henry had two guns on both sides of him.

He sighed. "Somebody decided to try to scare us off last night. Ambush."

"Ambush? What, did you people do the tango or something?"

"They surrounded us from all ends. Nobody made any serious moves though, they just toyed with us. Bastards," He jabbed at the embers.

"What-what _exactly_ did they do in the way of toying?"

"Kept Dean and I awake the entire night. Around dawn it sounded like they finally left, but after thirty years on the force you take precautions. But otherwise, they were just getting us tired."

"Should we be worried?"

"Not right now. Dead trees don't make for great cover, we're safe until nightfall. But if we run into em' on the way to the mines," He shook his head and chuckled.

Shawn gave Henry a look. "Dad. Once again, you need to finish your sentences. Second, we should be worried, shouldn't we? Big time, right?"

"I dunno Shawn, depends on how brave they are."

_You'd be surprised what non-humans can do._

"Great. _Joy_. At least we have guns and dead trees to protect us."

"Buzz kill. Change the subject if you're unhappy—isn't Juliet coming back tonight?"

"Yeah, she was. But the family business was finished up early, and she came back last night. Just got the text," He held up his phone, "and the urge to finish this thing early."

"It'll take at least another hour today to get to the mines, we find what we need, we go back tomorrow. Just like that."

"Just like that . . . yeah."

* * *

"Alright!" Shawn called out, "We split up from here! Yell if anything attacks or you find something!"

"What exactly are we looking for here, psycho-boy?" Dean crossed his arms.

"Psych-IC. _Psychic_, is what it's called. First off, we're looking for coal to bring back to Woodster. Secondly, anything else that may look suspicious in a coalmine. For example, if you _ever_ see a tall woman with a beard, that's suspicious anywhere. So is a short, stout man that claims he's a teapot."

Gus and Henry rolled their eyes, Sam and Dean frowned. They all went off into separate directions.

"Hey!" Shawn went off into a different direction, "A 'good bye, good luck' would've been nice at least."

The coalmine was a vast area when it was still working, and controlled now by the vegetation. There was a trail leading underground, which the group took, and they were met with seven different tunnels. They had all went off into the different catacombs, Shawn going into the seventh.

He had only a shotgun, a flashlight, and the sight gift. Not the psychic gift, the sight gift.

The flashlight proved to be useless in the tunnel, the light showing only a few yards in front of him. Still better than nothing. A few rats scampered away as Shawn made his way, making him shudder.

*"I'm all alone . . . all by myself . . .except for you rats . . . so all alone . . ." He stopped singing when a fork in the way showed itself. "Aw, c'mon! How many tunnels are in a coal mine?" He sighed. "Hm. Eeny-meeny-miny-moe. Tracking a ghost by the wit, and hoping not to get hit. Which tunnel shall it be, _this one_ is right for me!"

He chose the second tunnel, tearing off a piece of his shirt and tying it to the post. Something caught his eye on the ground:

_Footprints. Two tracks, bout' two people. Second track is struggling to keep up. Or is unconscious and is being dragged._

There were two sets of footprints. One print was bare-foot, the other was being dragged along. Shawn rushed down that tunnel, tracing the prints with his flashlight. He started to run when the second track left blood.

_Still fresh. Lost a shoe somewhere in—_

His flashlight caught the shoe in its beam. It was bloody, on its side.

Shawn covered his mouth. It was one of Juliet's shoes, from her favorite pair. "No. _No! Juliet!_" He picked up the shoe, running with it.

"_Juliet!_" Echoed off the walls with each turn.

* * *

***- Spamalot - _I'm All Alone._**


	10. Uh-Oh!

Shawn kept running, even after his legs and stomach started cramping. However, out of fear, he didn't call out for the others. If he called out, that would take away the element of surprise.

_Then again, I don't even know if she's watching me right now through a cauldron, or possessing the mice, or hocus-pocussing or whatever. _

The trail of blood ended at a door. He stopped, taking it in. It was an old, wooden door, the kind you'd expect to find in _Lord of the Rings_ in The Shire. He moved forward with caution, half expecting the witch to just come out the side of the wall and scream, half expecting Juliet to somehow drop down from the ceiling, dead.

And you know what?

None of that happened. Shawn twisted the handle. It creaked open, making him wince. It was like a fog horn in the silence of the caves, erasing the element of surprise altogether. Shawn inched his way inside, taking it in.

"Sam?"

* * *

...

Gus continued tracing the cavern walls, avoiding the disease-ridden rats the best he could. He carried the flashlight with him like it was what would save his life through the _Titanic's_ sinking. It was like the tunnel went on and on forever—it didn't even have any curves. Just a straight, dark tunnel with mine tracks guiding him.

_Shawn owes me BIG for this. I spent $47.77 on these shoes, and now I'm being hunted down by a witch and—_

"**AAAAAAAAAaaahhh!**"

She covered his mouth, lifting him up with her onto the ceiling.

* * *

...

Henry jerked around, his sensitive ears picking up Gus's scream. Not the "Oh-Dear-God-It's-A-Rat" scream, either.

He started running down the tunnel, certain that's where it came from. "Gus?! Gu-OOH!" He tripped over something hard, hitting the ground elbow-first.

"Aw, son of a—hmmm." He got up, and was knocked back down again by—

"_Please_! _Help_ me!" She was bloody, wearing joggers' clothes with a denim jacket. Her brunette hair was in her eyes, wide with terror.

"What, what's the matter?" He got up, helping her too.

"I-I was just running, alright? And then somebody came up from behind me, and then the next thing I know I'm in here!"

He gazed down the tunnel Gus's scream was. It was already forgotten by the time he shifted back to Her, "What's your name?"

It took a second for her to answer, "Tabitha."

He took her by the arm. "Henry."

She smiled. "I'll show you where I woke up. Follow me," They started off in the opposite direction of which she came, where he heard Gus's scream.

Henry's eyes were now red.

* * *

...

"Gus! Sammy!" Dean called out again. He had started running when he heard Sam's gasp behind him. He had turned around, and _Sam wasn't there_. A couple minutes later, he heard Gus scream, and off in that direction he went.

_Dammit. _Why_ does this _happen_ to us _every time?!

He now came up to an old wooden door. It was partially open, and he could hear voices streaming from inside. He kicked open the door with a shout, and then saw a flash of white light.

* * *

...

"Aw, dammit!" Shawn dropped the rusted shovel, checking Dean's pulse. "Aw, _dammit!_"

He looked over his shoulder at Sam as he began to mumble.

"Sam? Dude, wake up! We're going to Disneyland!"

Sam jumped in his seat, snorting and making an indescribable noise.

Shawn scooted behind him, untying the knots. "Hey. Remember anything?"

He was looking around, eyes lying on Dean. "What happened to him?"

"Oh. Uh—he ran in and hit something, I guess," He finished untying, "We need to get outta here. What happened to ya?"

"Snuck up behind me. You get Dean's legs, I got his arms and head."

"Right," He turned around, inspecting Dean's head. "Hey, is there another way outta this cave? Because Juliet's shoe was—GAH!"

He fell on the ground, head throbbing. Sam was over him with the shovel, and the last thing Shawn saw was his eyes. They were red.

* * *

**Short chapter, but at least I'm inspired now.**


	11. Outside The Brink

Shawn snorted himself awake. The first thing he noticed was his head—it hurt like watching Lassiter work. The second thing: he was tied to a chair, along with Dean to his back.

Sam, Henry, Gus, Juliet, and another woman—a jogger—were all standing in front of him. The first four had red eyes, the jogger looked normal.

Maybe the pose she was in struck Shawn as a Maleficent classic. Maybe it was the fact that everybody's eyes were red. However, Shawn automatically knew that it was the jogger, that she was the witch. She was also very beautiful.

"Welcome back to the land of the dead." So Dean was alive.

"Glad to be here. Though I may want a refund if it isn't worth it. It would be nice to live and all."

"Shut up," What Shawn assumed to be the witch spoke.

"Excuse my manners, Miss Witch."

"Shut up Spencer," Dean warned.

"My name is Tabitha. You must be that fake psychic I have heard so much about."

"_Tabitha?_" Both men asked simultaneously_._

They tried to glare at each other. Shawn spoke first, "Dude. That's the clichést witch name ever aside from Maleficent and Esmeralda. Even if Esmeralda's the name of a gipsy."

She shrugged. "It's unique for a witch in these times. Speaking of which, you don't find too many fake psychics in these times either." She snapped her hands. Everybody came forward, encircling Shawn and Dean.

Shawn stared at Gus, who was now two feet in front of him. "Dude! You're totally possessed!"

Dean tried to look at him. "You really don't know anything about this, do you?"

"It doesn't help that I start talking and won't stop when I get nervous. However," He turned his head towards Tabitha, "I wanna talk to you. You aren't possessing them, obviously. Why do you need them? Why haven't you killed us yet?"

"Shut up Psycho-Boy . . ."

She leaned forward. "It's very simple. I was cursed here by my husband after he found out what I was. I hardly _ever_ get any fun anymore. Therefore, I get to play a game whenever anybody enters the cursed forest just because _I like games_."

"We're all children at heart, aren't we? Do you ever consider picking up a hobby, like knitting, or racketball-"

She slapped him across the face.

"Warned ya." She slapped Dean too.

"I'm gonna play a game with all of you. I give the two of you about…say three minutes. I let your loved ones go wild after that, and it's a lovely game of cats and mouse."

"You mean cats and mice?" Shawn looked up at her.

"Mmmm. No. You don't need to survive, you just need to outrun the other mouse. I figure by the time one of you is out the cave, the other will be rat food. Now," she snapped her fingers, and the ropes that bound the two to the chair fell to the ground, "Let's begin."

Shawn and Dean stood up, looking at Tabitha.

"Run, little mice. _Run_."

They bolted out the door, back into the darkness of the cavern. Both held onto the walls, running at the same time.

Dean fumbled the flashlight of his back pocket and flicked it on. He got to lead. "We need to help them!"

"Well no gold, Rumplstiltskin! But it's easy if you think about it."

"What? How?!"

"The witch only has control over the _forest!_ If we lead the others out, she won't have control anymore!"

"And if they don't follow?"

They arrived at a fork. "We drag them out. Give me the flashlight."

Dean handed it to him. Shawn shown it over the left post—where he had tied the strip of cloth.

"Left. Leave the strip, we need them to follow us out."

"I'm pretty damn sure somehow she'll lead em' through."

"Trust me—I'm sure. Leave it, they'll follow easier."

"We have like, a minute left. We need to at least be outta here, there're too many tunnels they can sneak through to get in front of us."

"Then follow me."

They started running again, Shawn using his gift to recall which tunnel led out, Dean following without question (for once).

_Crack through wall._

_Shovel._

_Coal pile—almost out._

_Pickaxe—out._

Just as they saw the light at the end of the tunnel, a voice boomed, "TIME!"

They reached the end. Shawn grabbed Dean's shirt and yelled into the catacombs, "COME AND GET US, SUCKERS!" He let go of Dean. "Run!"

"What the hell?! It took us two days just to hike up to this place, what makes you think we'll get back there before they find us?!"

Shawn stopped, "Ooh," he shut his eyes, "_Crap_."

Dean pulled him along. "If we die I'm kickin' your ass in hell. Run as fast as you possibly can, mouse."

After five minutes of woods, they heard the first scream. Not even that exactly, it was a predator's scream of anger and excitement for the hunt. It was Juliet's scream.

"Juliet!?"

"Shut UP!"

* * *

They never stopped. The thought of what would—or could—be done to their bodies was enough adrenalin to keep moving. Shawn didn't even run zig-zags, just to make it easier for the others to follow.

Dean stopped Shawn as they broke into the clearing. Both eyes met the ones of Lassiter. He scoffed. "I thought you weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow."

Shawn bent down, gasping. "Ye-yeah. Wuh-we were. Change of plans. We got to the mine, here's your proof it was murder."

The four stepped slowly out of the shade of the trees.

"Holy crap, they're in sync too."

"Spencer, what's going on here?" All of them took a step backward, Shawn and Dean joining Lassey's side.

"They're drugged," Dean lied, "or hypnotized. We all split up in the mines. Wait," he looked at Lassiter, "why are you here?"

"Unfinished business with the evidence." He put his hand on the pistol in his jacket. "Juliet?"

She pulled her lip back, showing teeth, growling.

They all took another step back. Shawn looked at Gus and Henry. "Gus? Dad?"

They both glared.

Dean looked at Sam. "Sammy?"

He took a step forward, eyes flashing red. The rest followed in perfect sync.

Without taking his eyes off the zombies, Lassiter asked, "Why are their eyes red?"

"You wouldn't believe that they're under a witch's spell, would you?" Shawn asked.

"Not on our lives. Should we run, or would my gun-"

"Don't shoot!" Both men said.

That triggered the attack. The predators broke back out into a run; the prey ran for their lives.

* * *

Finally, FINALLY, Shawn saw the cars. "We're almost there! _Almost there!_" He turned his head as the other two ran past him, to their safety, "HEY! I'M RIGHT HERE! BETCHA CAN'T EVEN GET ME FROM HERE!"

Shawn stood there, waiting at the tree line.

"Spencer, what are you doing?"

"Psycho, you're going to get your ass whipped in there!"

"I know what I'm doing! Trust me!"

They all came in sync, once again.

"Seriously? All of you—you're _all_ in sync?"

They charged at him.

"Spencer! Get outta there!"

"COME ON!" He stood until the very last minute as they all tackled him . . .

To the outside of the forest.


	12. Gus!

**Alright. This is way overdue. :P**

* * *

Shawn lay there for a second longer, and asked calmly, "Can all of you please get off?"

He scooted out of the body pile, Lassiter and Dean helping the others get up. Shawn helped Juliet; she had that confused—yet knowing—look in her eye. "Shawn?" Even had the tone. "What the hell just happened to me?"

He leaned into her ear and whispered, "I'll tell you later," He leaned back out. "Nice reunion. I imagined it a little better, lit candles, no murderer. Oh, and Lassey," he took out a piece of coal snagged between two marks on the bottom of his shoe, "if this whole experience wasn't enough, this is some coal from the mine. If it matches the mark, then we know who our killer is."

"Who?" Lassey took out a bag, letting Shawn drop it in. Dean and Sam started for their car. "Where do you think you're going?"

Sam, still gasping, turned around. "Back to our hotel, if you don't mind."

"I do."

"Yeah. You weren't the one who just got—uh."

"Hypnotized," Dean finished. "We'll answer any questions that need to be answered later."

"_Hey_," Henry stopped gasping and stood up straight, "You aren't the only ones who went through this. We were _all_ affected. Now, you _both_ know something about it all. Don't use that whiny "I've been through so much" excuse. Tell us what just happened, because I remember _everything_. She _didn't_ hypnotize me, and I bet she didn't do anything to you. She just _spoke_ to me, and I felt like I was under some sort of spell."

Dean sighed, but smiled. "You know, I'm really starting to hate you."

He scoffed. "Right back atcha', creep."

"Everybody, everybody," Shawn got between the groups. "Dad. It can wait until tomorrow. It's dark out," he looked at Sam and Dean, "wouldn't want anything attacking from behind. And it so happens that Gus is still scared, he hasn't said any—Gus?"

He looked around. Gus wasn't anywhere in the parking lot.

"GUS?!"

Lassiter drew out his gun. "He must still be in there."

Just to prove that fact, Tabitha appeared at the tree line smiling. "Fun game. You may have survived, but not with all pieces. Play again, you earn him back."

"Who the hell are you?" He pointed the gun at her.

"That's the woman who took me out," Juliet said, "She got me from behind."

"She also claimed to be 'attacked from behind.'" Henry clenched his fists.

"But we won your stinking game!" Shawn cried out. "We all won our lives."

She shrugged. "I'm getting desperate. And lonely. Technically, you all didn't win your lives, just you and Dean won. I guess the cop, too. The others were my pawn pieces. Take your time. As a matter of fact, take a day. I want to prepare myself for the oncoming company." She disappeared into nothing. Her voice echoed from deep inside the forest: "_Come in tonight, the only thing you'll get is lost."_

Those who didn't already know about the supernatural were dumbstruck. Lassey even dropped his gun, arms still out, eye twitching. "Shawn?!"

"Yeah, yeah. We already told you, she's a witch named Tabitha. Pretty ironic, if you ask me."

* * *

**Short, but it should pick up now (she says for the upteenth time).**


	13. Spellbook

**I honestly don't think I can do this anymore. I've been trying, starting and re-starting this chapter numerous times already. XP Basically, I've completely lost my inspiration. I'm sitting in front of a blank Microsoft Word document, trying to force myself give you guys SOMETHING because it kills me to leave a story hanging. No matter how short it turns out to be.**

**But please. If you're still with me, can you review? It may give me something to go on, especially if it's about the plot. XP**

* * *

Indeed, as hard as it was, they couldn't go back into the woods. Shawn flew back in, only going a few feet before turning around.

Gus didn't jump out of the shadows.

Tabitha didn't speak again.

And yet there was a feeling in there—it was so heavy, Shawn felt like he could reach out and feel it: fear. It only thickened when he went farther inside, and he had run back out within seconds. They had gone home in complete silence, but not to sleep. Nobody could.

"By the way, how did she get you?" Shawn asked Juliet, after he dropped her off at her apartment. "_Where_ did she get you?"

"She got me at the airport, I think. It's mostly fuzzy. And black. I do remember everything that happened, though. And _you_ seem to know an awful lot about this, Shawn—what the hell happened to us?"

"Uh . . . Can't talk now, new Sci-Fi movie of the week comes on in ten minutes! It's supposed to be about killer piranhas and Dracula."

She frowned at this.

"I promise, I'll tell you later on tomorrow!" With that, he drove away.

And now, it was the next day. Lassiter and Juliet had to go back to the station; Chief Vick was assigning an important drug-dealers case to them, officially handing the case on hand to the 'FBI agents.'

Shawn, Sam and Dean had found a store that might just help them. It was a sort of supernatural store, even with a sign hanging above the front entrance reading "Supernatural."

"Huh. Supernatural." Shawn stopped to look at the sign. "Seriously. Don't you guys ever think that'd be a great name for a TV show—like, with you as the stars?"

"No," Dean stated flatly. "That's a _horrible_ idea. It should have something more kick-butt, something to actually _draw people in_. Let's get inside so we can kick Tabitha's butt."

Shawn practically swaggered inside, the other two right behind him. He went up to the woman at the register, and put his hands on the case display of amulets. "Hello. My name is Shawn Nuffuberwellinger. This is," he pointed to Sam, "Sam Shleegandae-Manhattingberg," he pointed to Dean, "and this is Sam Shleegandae-Manhattingberg. No relation. Feel free to call Sam Sam, and call Sam Peanut-butter. Feel absolutely free to call me gorgeous. 'His Majesty' would work just as well."

Both men turned to give him a look, then gave each other an uncertain eye before turning back to the girl.

"I am the S.B.P.D. department's head psychic," Shawn put his fingers against his temples, "and we're here on a case."

The girl looked shocked for a moment, then just plain creeped out. "Ah-I'm Tabitha . . ?"

He looked down, nodding his head. "Of course you are."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Well, wh-what do you want?"

"We're here to research witches. This one girl on our case keeps repeating 'witch-game, witch-game, evil-witch-game,' and it's driving everyone down at the station _nuts_."

"Witch games, huh? I think I have the perfect book for you," Tabitha turned around, picking through the bookshelf to the right of the register. She turned back around, and showed them a black book, with the word "Spells" written in cursive and gold. *"This is about ancient witch folk-lore. As in, the witches who would take little children from their homes at night, or something along those lines. Like how you can get on the wicked "broom-riding" witch's side, how to play and defeat her favorite games, all of that stuff. The author's name is Tabitha, too." She grinned at that.

Shawn threw out his arms, "Why is everybody's name Tabitha?!"

"Hey," Sam elbowed his way in front of _this_ Tabitha, "Sorry about my friend, he's had this serious problem with that _giant_, _infectious_ rash on his bu—"

"Whoa—!" He exclaimed, "Peanut-Butter! Let's not traumatize this lovely, awesome, second-Tabitha-we've-met-in-two-days. Besides. I think we _all_ know about your little issue with those Barbie dolls."

Dean poorly attempted to stifle laughter.

Sam glared at his brother. "Well, at least _I_ don't have an angel night-light."

He smiled. "Hey, _you've_ been using it whenever that girlfriend of yours comes over. What's her name? Oh, right—James, isn't it? Billy? Jack?"

"Hey, none of them have that tapeworm you got from the stray dog you kissed the other day. Or the flea-infested-apartment."

"Whoa, seriously?" Shawn chuckled, "We're _seriously_ playing this game?"

"No," Dean turned to Shawn, smiling. "But maybe _you'd_ like to play Candy Land with yourself later on."

"Hey! Speaking of games and jokes, how's that _career_ of yours going?"

Sam interrupted, seeing that Tabitha was slowly backing away, "We'll take the book. Sorry."

"Hey," Shawn said as they were in the parking lot, "What was up with the line of fake insults? As entertaining as they were and are—wait, none of them _were_ true, were they?"

"No," Sam unlocked the door to the car. "But don't you dare ever call me Peanut Butter again."

"Don't you dare call me gorgeous or 'His Majesty.' That would just be awkward, man."

"And don't call me Sam," Dean said, "Unless you wanna die."

* * *

**Seriously. Feel free to request a plot line, or I won't finish this. It's become too much trouble, and I keep losing inspiration. Especially when I update and nobody reviews! **

***- See, none of this is true. I'm just desperate to find a plot to this story.**


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